


Jewels in the junkyard, diamonds in the rust

by argonautic



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chapters are a thing and I'm bad at it, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautic/pseuds/argonautic
Summary: If you haven't read  Ymas’s plumberAU yet do yourself a favour and fix that issue, as it deserves much more love than this one for sure. Then blame it for this story.Someone has proofs of me saying I wouldn’t embark in a multi-chapter, long story again – well,SkyHighDisco, here I am.The story is set soon after TG began, in an AU where Jeremy still is a TG presenter together with Richard and Jason whilst James is living in the countryside instead, far away from Jeremy's world unless until they accidentally meet. For that reason, timeline, side events and many other details won’t necessarily match the reality, despite some references to facts actually happened.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Comments: 35
Kudos: 12





	1. Breakdowns happen when you least expect

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [Ymas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas). Log in to view. 



> If you haven't read Ymas’s plumberAU yet do yourself a favour and fix that issue, as it deserves much more love than this one for sure. Then blame it for this story. 
> 
> Someone has proofs of me saying I wouldn’t embark in a multi-chapter, long story again – well, [SkyHighDisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco), here I am.
> 
> The story is set soon after TG began, in an AU where Jeremy still is a TG presenter together with Richard and Jason whilst James is living in the countryside instead, far away from Jeremy's world unless until they accidentally meet. For that reason, timeline, side events and many other details won’t necessarily match the reality, despite some references to facts actually happened.

_Lousy. Awful. Loathsome. How the hell did they get away with a thing like this?_

Jeremy was driving that Morris Marina hoping that no one would see him at its wheel, compensating for the missing radio with a litany of pejoratives that still couldn’t describe that monstrosity as accurately as he’d have wanted to.

_It will make for good telly_ , he kept repeating himself to find the strength to drive it down to the track; Andy explained it was to save on the budget but it didn’t make sense, the BBC could surely afford a tow truck, or another driver, so Jeremy had assumed it must have been some kind of prank at his expenses.

Also finely staged, he thought when, downshifting while approaching a crossroad, he felt something was wrong with the car. He tried again, only to discover that the clutch pedal had become a flaccid attachment, unable to help switching gears anymore, making the whole thing practically useless. _As I claimed._

But having proved his theories about the absolute unreliability of such a rattletrap suddenly didn’t felt so satisfying anymore. After the initial distress, he chuckled at the bright side of it: he has just been gifted the chance to avoid driving that thing any longer, so what more could he have asked for?

The unexpected happiness lasted until he realized why the Automobile Association helpline was taking longer than usual to pick up their phone. He huffily checked his mobile to realise he wasn’t actually calling them, nor anyone else, since he couldn’t get any signal there. _Oh hell._ He got out of the car and tried again, with the same result. Nothing changed even when he walked to the other side of the road. _Great, stuck in a place forgotten by God and the phone companies with a broken-down Morris Marina._

Minor consolation, he did the right thing in avoiding taking the motorway, but if he already couldn’t see the need for having had to drive the Marina down from London, he’d just been given a solid reason to complain with the producers about it.

He walked up to the closest cottage and rang the bell next to the already open rusty gate, keeping his fingers crossed for someone to be there since there weren’t cars parked outside. Eventually, the door opened, and a tiny, old woman appeared. Before risking being taken for a prowler, Jeremy started explaining:

“Excuse me Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you but my car has broken down at the crossroad and my mobile doesn’t get any signal here. Could you be so kind to ring up the AA for me? I’ve got their number here.”

“Oh dear Lord! Are you okay sweetie?”, the woman squealed, louder than Jeremy imagined such a minute grandma could sound.

Jeremy was quick to reassure her, “Oh yes! Yes, I’m perfectly fine, please don’t worry”, fearing she might have been the one needing assistance if she wouldn’t calm down soon, “It’s just a breakdown, not an accident – I’m fine, I just need to make a phone call…”

“Oh thank God! Come here dear, be my guest… I’ll make tea meanwhile, so you can have some”, she kept squealing at a slightly lower volume while Jeremy walked inside after her, “Here’s the phone, please feel free to call whoever you want.”

“Thank you so much, but again, I’m fine, I don’t need tea or anything – the phone will be enough…”

“It’s no problem, I was making tea for me, you can have some, it will do you good…”

Jeremy gave up and understood he was supposed to accept the tea anyway; he composed the number on a long unseen rotary phone - surprised it was still working and saddened by the realisation he was old enough to perfectly know how to use it - and waited for an operator to pick up his call.

The woman on the other side of the line was absolutely professional: she recognized the area code Jeremy was calling from and his card number – the BBC’s one, actually – but she also deeply regretted to inform him that, due to a huge pile-up on the motorway, a tow truck couldn’t get there before one hour at least.

“One hour? But I have to be at the track in one hour! – oh, well yes, I understand but - okay, fine, I’ll wait, thanks”, and hanged up. Well at least he wasn’t stuck in the motorway, he tried to cheer up, already wondering if he could manage to drive up to the track slip shifting between the gears, when his host suggested: “You should ask James, he’s always fiddling around cars. He lives here down the road, he will be happy to have a look at it - perhaps he could fix it.”

Jeremy dreaded the chance of having to deal with someone else who wasn’t the AA guy. “No please- I mean, thanks but there’s no need to, I’ve just figured out a way I can drive the car all the same”, he tried to politely refuse the offer.

Too late: she had already taken his place at the phone, slowly dialling a number.

“Good morning James”, she began soon after, “No, I’m fine, don’t worry, but there’s a gentleman here whose car broke down; I’m making tea while he waits for the tow truck, would you mind coming here and having a look at his car? He seems in a hurry…”

She let him reply, then offered Jeremy the receiver: “He wants to talk with you – to understand the issue”, she explained.

Jeremy smiled a forced smile and grab the phone, “Hello… James, right? I’m Jeremy.”

“Hello Jeremy, any idea what’s wrong with your car? So that I can bring the right tools.”

“Pretty sure it’s the clutch cable – pedal has sunk to the floor.”

“Got it. What model is it?”

“1970something Morris Marina.”

“Hmm. I may have something suitable. See you there in ten minutes. Oh, don’t accept chocolates from Miss Whitby – her tarts are delicious though”, and hanged up.

Jeremy gave her back the receiver still processing those last words. _Well, at least this James sounds like a practical guy_ , he thought right after, and Miss Whitby seemingly read Jeremy’s mind, “Told you, he’s a nice lad – pity he’s always alone”, she added, “Fancy a chocolate?”

“Oh, no, no thanks...”

“A lemon tartlet then? I made them myself.”

“Oh, well, a tartlet will be perfect, thank you.”

Sank in the worn-out sofa, Jeremy slowly savoured every bite of the pastry, for politeness but also to keep his mouth full as long as possible, to avoid an awkward conversation, yet nodding with satisfaction while chewing to please Miss Whitby’s expectant stare. It wasn’t that difficult, James was right about the tarts. Jeremy acted the same with the tea, carefully sipping it while still wondering what could have been wrong with the chocolates, when a motorbike rumbled out of the window.

“Must be James”, she explained while going to the door, so Jeremy placed the cup back on the saucer and stood up from the sofa, not without difficulties, and followed her to the door.

Long uncombed hair, a visibly heavy satchel and one of the most repelling striped jumpers Jeremy had ever seen: the bloke named James was standing right out of the gate, holding a couple of cables in one hand.

After having greeted Miss Whitby, he spoke to Jeremy, “Hello, I’ve found something that might fit but we’re going to need a bit of luck. Where’s your car?”

Practical and straight to the point, just like Jeremy had foreseen on the phone; promising, enough for Jeremy to effortlessly reach him on the road and lead the way towards the car.

“Oh it’s just before the crossroad. I’m sorry to have bothered you – I’ve only asked her to make a phone call since there’s no signal here and she decided to ring you up on her own will…”, Jeremy apologised while walking.

“It’s no problem, I haven’t much to do at home. So, you’re into classic cars?”

“No. I loathe them”, Jeremy cared to point out, “And I’m sure you understand why – this wouldn’t happen with a modern car, they’re more reliable!”, he complained.

“Why are you driving it then?”

“Work”, Jeremy replied, without adding anything else. The whole situation was already odd like that, he didn’t need to be recognized as someone from the telly – he also didn’t want to admit he felt a bit disappointed in not having been recognized yet: his show was getting increasingly popular and at first sight James looked like someone who should have enjoyed watching it.

As soon as they reached the car James opened its door and unlocked the bonnet, confident and skilful; “Well, it could have happened to a modern car all the same, but it would have been harder to mend… hydraulic lines take longer to replace, you must bleed the master cylinder and everything…”, James kept explaining calmly, his head already down inside the bay, hair mopping parts of the car Jeremy couldn’t even name.

“Are you a mechanic then?”

“Nah, just an enthusiast.”

“…who happens to have at least two spare clutch cables at home, hmm?”

“I have a lot of rubbish at my place, you’ve just been lucky – one comes from a BMW motorbike actually, but it’s almost the same length of your broken one, so I think it could do.”

Jeremy nodded, trying to hide his absolutely helplessness in the field, while James seemed to have the whole thing clear, “I need to get under the car, can you drive it over the ditch there?”

“You’ll lay down… in the ditch?”

“Hasn’t rained in days, it’s dry – come on, sit at the wheel.”

Jeremy obeyed and waited for further instruction, still sat at the wheel in confused bewilderment. Not that he was afraid of mucking in – it was more a lack of skill kind-of problem – but he still found unusual that someone was prone to lay in a ditch just to help him. Anyway, James seemed knowing what he was doing, and even if he’d fail, Jeremy already had a plan b, so the only thing to do was sit there and wait.

Meanwhile, under the car, James wondered how much that Jeremy must have loved his job to accept driving such a jalopy, but restrained from asking it loud both for politeness and for how hard it would be to carry on a conversation from the underside of a car. The speculations over Jeremy’s job got lost under the silent curses he addressed to a nut that was tighter than expected, but once dealt with it, the rest of the job went on neatly and quickly.

After a few minutes of mixed mechanical noises Jeremy didn’t bother to understand, and a couple of grunts, he heard a voice resonating beyond the firewall, “Try pushing the pedal now”, and marvelled at its recovered stiffness.

After James had re-emerged from under the car, Jeremy tested the pedal a few more times, then drove the Marina back to the road, forward and backwards again, rejoicing through the open window, “It works! You’ve saved me!”

James smiled, unpersuaded – it hadn’t been that difficult, whatever Jeremy could have assumed, so he really couldn’t understand all the enthusiasm; Jeremy instead translated the almost embarrassed smirk with a more than legit expectation, so he pulled out his wallet and asked “Is this enough?”, offering James a fifty-pound note.

James jolted, “Oh no! No no, you don’t owe me anything, it’s been a favour!”

“But the cable certainly has a price.”

“Bah, it’s a second-hand and won’t last forever – you should have it properly repaired as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, obviously”, Jeremy replied, aware of the unfortunate fate of the car he was driving once done with the filming. “Well, thank you then. I’d better go now – I’m already quite late. Please say goodbye to Miss Whitby for me. Have a nice day.”

“You too Jeremy, bye.”


	2. One man's junk is another man's treasure

The cable lasted longer than expected, so that Jeremy didn’t feel the need to tell anyone about the incident, not even when the scene involving the Marina got cancelled and the car ended up parked in a corner of the track.

A couple of day later, driving back along the same route to find a tract of road that would make for a nice background in one of his future pieces, he passed by Miss Whitby’s cottage again.

He needed to check twice but yes, he knew that guy walking out of the gate: he pulled over and waved from the window of the BMW he was driving that day, “James!”

James turned towards the unknown car and it took him a second to react, “Uhm? Oh, hi Jeremy! - what happened to the Morris?”

“Oh, er, I bet it’s fine – your fixing is still working… but I’ve got this one to review today.”

“Review? Are you a car journalist?”, James asked, suddenly wary.

“Yes!”, Jeremy beamed. Perhaps after that little hint James would have recognized him – that day it wouldn’t have been a problem, the BMW was a respectable ride and Jeremy was in a much better mood. James wasn’t as impressed as Jeremy hoped though:

“Oh. I mean, it’s… it must be an interesting job, isn’t it?”, he replied.

“Well yes, it has its perks”, Jeremy began, not so willing to brag considering the way James darkened at his answer, “So, you’re a regular at Miss Whitby’s?”

“Well, she lives alone and her nephew can get here only once a month so I help her when she needs; you know, heaviest things from the grocery or minor home maintenance, this kind of things…”

“And she pays you back in tarts?”

“Food in general, but tarts are welcomed”, James explained, “And some needle work if I need it.”

 _Well that might explain these hideous jumpers_ , “What’s wrong with the chocolates instead?”

“Oh, they’re from at least three Christmases ago: her nephew brought them despite knowing she’s diabetic, and they’ve remained there since. It keeps getting harder to find new excuses to refuse them”, he laughed, and Jeremy with him.

Miss Whitby was right: James actually seemed a nice guy, so that Jeremy felt like offering, “You like beer?”

“Sure.”

“Want to share a bottle? I’ve been given a crate of a craft red, I can’t drink it all by myself - I mean, I could but I probably shouldn’t so… fancy some? I’m still in debt with you for the cable.”

“Forget about the cable, but I won’t mind trying some. Is my place ok? It’s two minutes from here, at the end of the road.”

“Fine.”

“Great. Follow me.”

James put his helmet on and started up the old Moto Guzzi parked next to the gate, riding it smoothly around the potholes of the country road that lead on the other side of the hill.

Jeremy followed him until the motorbike stopped under a carport, next to other three or four motorbikes squished to each other – Jeremy couldn’t understand if there was also a sidecar among them, and parked right next, in front of what it looked more like a barn than an actual house.

He got out of the car and took four bottles from the crate in the boot, then reached James on the door; leading the way inside, James began apologising, “Er, please excuse the mess - wasn’t expecting visits and I live alone, so I’m fine with this, it makes sense in my mind.”

Jeremy feared what kind of mind could find some sense in that amount of half-rusted spare parts that cluttered the place, from whole engines to random pipes, to the point it was almost difficult to get inside. It looked more organized than a standard junkyard, but the overall feeling was the same: if James had intended to tidy up for eventual visitors, Jeremy evaluated they’d better notify themselves at least one month earlier. He dodged the naked body of what it must have been a Vespa, avoided getting hung to the collection of dusty belts hanging from the ceiling and finally reached a clearing among the surrounding amount of junk, where he offered the bottles to James, reconsidering the whole idea, “Maybe they’re too warm to be enjoyed properly…”

“They’ll cool down in ten minutes, can you wait?”

“Sure - I just doubt it will be enough, though”, Jeremy couldn’t help pointing out, but again James seemed sure of himself.

“I know a trick”, he explained tearing a few sheets off from the huge paper roll that was hanging under a surprisingly tidy workbench, hidden behind a pile of banana cardboard boxes looking dangerously unsteady, then disappeared over a rusty cabinet.

Jeremy heard water running from a tap but couldn’t spot it, then saw James wrapping the bottles he gave him in the damp paper towels before placing them in the freezer. He chose to overlook the fact the freezer was placed next to a lathe and a drill press, played it cool and attempted to pull closer a stool he’d noticed among the other stuff to make himself comfortable during the wait, but James halted him, “No, wait, I’ll give you something cleaner to sit on”.

Jeremy didn’t have time to argue there was no need to: James was already pulling a huge bundle down from an uneven, too-full shelf, unpacking it to reveal a brand-new cream leather seat. “It’s from an Alfa Romeo - a 147, precisely”, James added, reading the label on the tore wrap, to an increasingly fascinated Jeremy.

“Oh it’s quite an interesting hatchback, I’m looking forward to try the GTA version”, he commented while sitting down; “Front wheel drive – not a good thing if you want to go fast and steer at the same time”, James stated without missing a beat, with a staunch attitude that triggered Jeremy’s pride: “Oh, really? Are you going to apply to Top Gear soon?”, he jested, believing that James had finally recognized him.

James shrugged, “Is it worth it? That program should have been axed long ago…”

Oh, it stung, not having been recognised. And that was the best option yet: if James was particularly inept at recognising faces, it was quite a critique over Jeremy’s show. Jeremy hoped James was thinking about the old Top Gear – he wouldn’t disagree if so – and tested the waters, “How long haven’t you been watching it?

“Oh well, ages actually – I have never had a telly here.”

It was a relieving update, but Jeremy couldn’t fully appreciate it, bothered by the fact James didn’t have a television: first Miss Whitby’s rotary phone, now this, had he run into a space-time anomaly? No, since at least the Alfa Romeo 147 seemed to exist there and then as well, but for the rest James kept sounding absolutely out of time.

“What do you mean you don’t have a television?”, Jeremy screeched.

“Well… exactly that?”

“How can you- I mean, what do you do in your spare time?”

“Well I’m sure you can see I have a lot of stuff to keep myself busy", he replied, vaguely gesturing at the piled-up bric-a-brac behind Jeremy’s back.

“You’re a weird guy James” was Jeremy’s ineluctable conclusion, to which James shrugged, imperturbable. ~~~~

“What do you do for a living then?”, Jeremy asked in the aim to carry on the small talk, but James’s answer was a bit gloomy: “Oh er… currently, not much, I trade spare parts for the most - it mightn’t seem but there’s some rare and interesting stuff buried around here”, and he lighted up a bit over that point, “But I don’t have an actual job.”

“Okay. And it feels like I’d better mind my own business, so I’m sorry I’ve asked”, Jeremy apologized after having realized his gaffe.

“It’s no problem, really. It’s only… it’s a long story, actually, don’t want to bore you to death, so… but I’m managing to get by, so it’s fine.”

James sounded sincere, just a bit sad, so Jeremy attempted to recover that spark in James’s eyes he had spotted before, “You’ve intrigued me… what’s the rarest or most peculiar thing you have here?”

To Jeremy’s relief, James beamed again, “Follow me.”

He led the way through another door, to a room that was supposed to be the kitchen and the living room and the bedroom all together, given the appliances and furniture that were there; all considered, Jeremy had to agree that keeping the refrigerator at the foot of the bed wasn’t a completely illogical idea, especially for the midnight snacks, once you get used to the purring noise.

“Check that bottle rack”, James said proudly, “3.8-litre Jaguar engine block, out of a XK 150 - larger bottles doesn’t fit in though.”

“Well you should have gone for a 4.2 then!”, Jeremy promptly reply, to James’s delighted wonder, and followed him through a narrow passageway hidden behind a sliding door, leading in another shed where, under a crooked mezzanine loft, there was the rest of the XK 150, in evident need of some _tender loving care_. “I just can’t make up my mind and start restoring it - it would take a lot, both time and money”, James guiltily explained.

“And you’ll need another bottle rack once you’re done with it, right?”

“Exactly!”, James guffawed, whilst Jeremy’s jaw was dropping as he recognized an unmistakable shape hidden under a tarpaulin: “Excuse me but… is it..?”

“Yes, it’s a Stratos. But I won’t recommend pulling away the cover: it caught fire during a race, there’s only a burned skeleton under it and it’s a deeply unpleasant sight.”

Through the small window beyond the Stratos Jeremy spotted two other carefully covered cars parked on the back of the shed, with a chicken standing on top of one like a sacrilegious Spirit of Ecstasy.

“Hens?”

“Just two, and a cat – are you allergic or anything?”

“No, they just don’t like me”, Jeremy replied while taking a look around; James didn’t point out all rarities scattered over the place but Jeremy spotted a Maserati steering wheel hanged on the wall, a bonnet belonging to a Citroën 2CV leant against a corner and, last but not least, a huge crate branded Jeep that could have actually contained a whole car. And boxes and jerry cans and tins everywhere, stacked more or less precariously over jury-rigged shelves. Jeremy was stunned: “This is quite a cave of treasures, am I right?”

“Oh well, you’ll never know what may come in handy - and I am a bit of a hoarder actually”, he confessed while scratching his nape, but he looked somehow proud of his sort of collection.

”Those beers must have cooled enough by now, what do you think?”

Jeremy wasn’t of the same opinion but didn’t reply and just followed him back to what James called his workshop.

Against Jeremy’s expectations, the beers were adequately cool; they probably deserved more attention to be tasted properly, but Jeremy was genuinely intrigued by the way James was rattling off facts and – rather peculiar, indeed – opinions stretching all over the automotive field, having to restrain himself from enquiring further more than once, to not pass for a nosey parker. Jeremy couldn’t say how long he’d sat on the leather seat chatting with James, arguing or laughing with him; perhaps beer has helped, but it was a while since he had had such a pleasant conversation with someone he’d just met.


	3. Not all oysters grow pearls, but some do

“I know a bloke that could have that part”, Jeremy announced to the already resigned crew. They didn’t look as persuaded as he thought – the damage on the TVR was all his fault, and the fact he wasn’t even supposed to drive it didn’t help.

“Great, can you ring him up then?”

“Er… actually no, I don’t have his number… I can go to his place tomorrow, just give me the broken piece and I’ll see what he can do.”

The following day Jeremy showed up at James’s workshop asking if by any chance he had a spare ball joint for a T350 in his warehouse; Jeremy deliberately omitted explaining how it came he needed such a thing, and James was so happy to be helpful that didn’t mind to ask for details.

It required a lot of almost blind rummage in the messiest and dustiest corners of James’s storage but it was worth it. Jeremy waited there - and helped a bit - only because James sounded bloody sure of himself, in a way that made his eyes shine, when he said he had what Jeremy needed, “Most of the TVR's models use the same ball joint, you know?”

They faced the predictable collapse of the pile of banana boxes, an encounter with a scorpion carrying its new-borns, and a small cut but James eventually found it, still in the original package, "Lovely design, isn't it?"

Jeremy wasn’t able to appreciate the colourful pattern of the dusty box; the joyful satisfaction on James’s face was more enjoyable instead. He dismissed the consideration in favour of a much practical issue: “How much is it?”

James was almost offended, “Oh, I can’t charge you for this - you’ve also helped digging for it!”

”Oh it was more entertaining than I thought actually!”

“Great, so feel free to come back here when you need something – I’m happy to help.”

“I sure will.”

It happened earlier than Jeremy thought. This time though, Jeremy set it out clearly from the start: “This is the money. You take it and I’ll tell you what I need this time. Otherwise, no offense taken but I’ll leave”, and James couldn’t help but accepting.

It was money well spent, since James and his stuff saved the day once again; it didn’t take long for them to become Jeremy’s first choice when in need of a car part. More often than not, James had what Jeremy was looking for, or something similar, or could make a suitable substitute after having tinkered half an hour around his workshop whilst Jeremy waited there, sat on his seat, often with a beer from James’s stash.

The first time he’d assumed he could have just stayed there fiddling with his mobile while James was busy at his workbench, having forgotten a minor detail: "Damn, no signal here… Do you have internet here?"

James shook his head.

“Oh come on, not even for porn? How the hell do you survive?”

“Magazines”, and Jeremy rolled his eyes at the obviousness of James’s reply.

He realized he couldn’t do anything but chat to kill time – quickly discovering that it wasn’t a bad thing at all. James never failed to argue Jeremy’s statements, taking pauses when the noise from the drill or the lathe became too loud, providing facts and figures supporting his theories, for as unconventional they might be.

They often disagreed, but nevertheless their chats flowed easily regardless of whatever they were talking about. Jeremy was also precise in restocking the beers and generous when paying for parts; not that James despised the money, but Jeremy’s prodigality always left him slightly uncomfortable so, when presented with the chance to pay back somehow, James took it.

He rang up Jeremy and, in spite of how enthusiastically Jeremy picked up the phone, he hesitantly offered, “Hey, hope I’m not bothering you, this time it’s me that may need your help: there's this guy from Kent, I've sold him a part for his Morgan and accepted to be paid in oysters - but there are too many for me only and well, I didn't know who I could share with… I don't want Miss Whitby to get the wrong innuendo out of a potential offer!”

“Ha ha, that's a risk!”, Jeremy joked. He didn’t even have to think about what answer, “I'll be more than happy to share; also, I think I have the perfect bottle to match them.”

“So... seven?”

“Perfect. See you there.”

“Great.”

Jeremy’s satisfaction crumbled right after having hanged up: _Wait. He didn't want Miss Whitby to get the wrong innuendo – the sexual one. But then he called you. Oh fuck, Jeremy, what did you got yourself into?_

Perhaps he was only overreacting to something that wasn’t actually there, a double meaning James hadn’t remotely considered. Despite all his quirks, James didn’t seem a creeper, yet it still felt like there was something between the lines Jeremy couldn’t focalise. He drove up to James’s all the same, the bottle carefully packed in a thermal bag, but didn’t managed to get over his suspicion.

Once there, Jeremy walked inside showing off an alleged confidence that wasn’t actually there. He attempted to sound more at ease than he actually was while asking “Where’s the corkscrew?” but James was somehow determined in playing the host, “Sit down, I’ll open it…”, unwittingly ruining Jeremy’s strategy. So Jeremy gave up and just asked, “Can I use the lavatory meanwhile?”

“Oh, sure- er, there's no door though: I needed a couple of shelves a while ago and it was the perfect length, but I haven’t replaced it yet”; Jeremy would have laughed at the explanation if only he wasn’t that much on tenterhooks.

James has set a table in place of the shelf he usually ate on - just board over two trestles, a larger plane where two people could dine comfortably. Glasses obviously didn’t match, the tablecloth was too short on one side and there was a whole stack of paper napkins next to a tray full of still unopened oysters. Nothing elegant, yet unusual enough to increase Jeremy’s wariness. His brain didn’t lose the chance to suggest how it all looked like too much as a date; he tried to hide his worries pretending to pay attention to the oysters, insistently staring at them up to the point James felt the need to explain:

“Er yes, it actually is a hub cap – from a Volkswagen, if you’re wondering - I swear it’s clean, it’s even gone through the ultrasonic cleaner; I’ve never found the other three, so it’s more useful like this.”

Despite his anxiety, this time Jeremy couldn’t help snorting a laugh; good thing it helped easing his mood, so it became easier to confess what was unsettling him.

“No, it’s not that… I’m sorry but I can't help thinking about how you've worded your invitation here - the joke about the supposed aphrodisiac effect especially.”

James froze. “Oh. Oh no. It was a joke only. I mean, she wouldn't have eaten them anyway!”

“Sure, but… I was- I thought you were, er, flirting with me and, well...”, Jeremy began stuttering, embarrassed, but thankfully James cut him off, “Oh god, Jeremy, no! That wasn’t my intention at all!”

He sounded absolutely sincere, almost mortified, so Jeremy heaved a sigh of relief, “Okay, got it, it’s fine. Not that there was anything wrong with it, I mean, but... if you were, I just didn't catch it and I really didn't want to carry on such a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

“Fine”, James nodded, “Thank you for having accepted all the same then.”

“No problem. You’re good company.”

James just smiled in response and grabbed an oyster, almost in sync with Jeremy. After a bit of fumbling with the knife and a knowing look, they toasted the opened shells together before slurping the molluscs down – firsts of a long series, given their amount.

The Chablis Grand Cru Jeremy had provided was probably the most expensive thing James had ever drunk and tasted accordingly. Looking at its reflections in the glass, James eventually felt the need to clarify that one thing. He faltered a bit, gaze still fixed on the wine, “Can I ask you... I mean, what you’ve said... you seemed uncomfortable with that, so I think I'd better let you know that I am indeed homosexual – but I swear I wasn’t trying to lure you into my trap or anything”, looking at Jeremy again for that last sentence.

“It's... It's not a problem, and I'm not uncomfortable with it. It's fine, I have many friends who are gay and there’s nothing wrong with it. I really don’t care who you’re shagging.”

 _Too straightforward,_ Jeremy feared right after having spoken, but fortunately James got the sense of it and chuckled, “Great. I just wanted it to be clear.”

Jeremy nodded, but promised himself to never bring up the subject again for good measure., It took a while to finish the oysters since their conversation run more smoothly after that exchange. They concluded the dinner with a lemon tart provided by Miss Whitby, then it was time for Jeremy to get back home. 

"So… can I invite you again if someone pays me with food I can’t consume alone?”, James asked while walking next to Jeremy up to the door.

"With great pleasure”; the choice of words was perhaps alcohol-induced but Jeremy genuinely meant it, “Can I bug you again if I need your help?”

"Of course.”

“Great. Have a good night James, see you soon.”

“See you Jeremy, take care.”


	4. There is more than meets the eye

Jeremy's visits became more frequent and didn't necessarily include a frantic research for a spare part; sometimes Jeremy brought with him something from the show that he thought James might find interesting, sometimes he stopped there for the only reason of having a good chat.

The Alfa Romeo seat, once James had properly anchored it to a suitable base, had become Jeremy's personal chair. James managed to work and keep the conversion alive at the same time and Jeremy still couldn’t understand what sort of magic he kept performing at his bench. James was always busy assembling, mending or restoring, tirelessly, whilst narrating the whole process like it was an origin myth or a Nordic legend if Jeremy hadn't offered a different topic to discuss. Even in that case, though, Jeremy couldn’t help staring at whatever James was doing meanwhile, marvelling at how he could carefully handle the tiniest bits yet hammer that same things at full force if needed, like a watchmaker with benefits.

One time James wasn’t in the mood for mending things and sat with him to share a beer, then two, then three. Given the relaxed atmosphere, Jeremy found the audacity to ask the question that kept spinning in his head, “I understand it might be indelicate, but... how can someone as smart and skilled as you end up… like this?”

He was already regretting both the question and the choice of words, but James didn’t seem to care too much about it; he nodded and took another gulp of beer, then began to explain.

“Short answer, I’d say because of my father. But of course, it’s not all about him.

He was a car dealer - owned a big show room, with a repair workshop on the back that was basically my playground: since when I was a child, as soon as I was done with the homework, I popped there, bugging the mechanics at work until I got – reasonably – scolded, then fiddling with whatever was left around by myself. 

I managed to balance studying and playing, up to the point I started writing a few things for the local newspaper, and also some sort of brochures for the cars on show – especially the hard-to-sell older ones – and they’ve worked more than once!”

Apart from a burst of pride over the last sentence that made James look right at Jeremy’s eyes, he kept explained the rest of his story to some invisible entity that, given the direction of James’s gaze, was sitting at the bottom of the pile of tyres in the corner. Nonetheless, Jeremy felt anything but offended.

“Meanwhile, I understood girls weren’t my stuff; I found the guys from the heavy tool catalogues more interesting than the pin-ups on the calendars. I thought it was safe to open up with my father about it; I mean, I wasn't doing that bad as a son and, since things with my mother had gone to hell long before, I hoped he could understand me - I was wrong.

Before he could kick me out, I bought a lorry and lived in it for a while; I stole a few, small but valuable parts from the workshop’s storage and sold them, then I’ve worked odd jobs here and there. While clearing out basements and sheds, I kept the good things for myself. And when my father died, I inherited enough money to buy this place – and here I am.”

Jeremy had listened in respectful silence throughout the whole explanation; he wanted to ask another question, but in the end James looked happy like that, so he figured out the answer himself.

One day Jeremy popped there with a few parts taken out of a Jaguar XJS as the excuse for a chat; he didn’t give too much weight to the old Seat Ibiza parked in front of the barn - too modern for James’s taste, but you could never know what he was tinkering with, James would have surely explained the story behind it by himself – and entered the barn shouting “Jaaames”, as he used to do.

James appeared soon after, popping out of his living quarters, leaving the door behind him ajar. Hair more ruffled than usual and red-faced in a way Jeremy labelled - inexplicably, he would have said - as 'cute', he gasped, "Oh hey, wasn't expecting you...”

"Uh... sorry, I should have called first...”, Jeremy was trying to apologise when a young guy sneaked out behind James with his head bowed, muttering “’llo” while quickly passing next to Jeremy to reach the door and go outside.

“Oh, ahem, he’s Martin, a… friend of mine”, James embarrassedly explained to an utterly regretful Jeremy, “Er… fancy some tea?”

 _Quite a friendship you have to leave you panting like that_ , Jeremy couldn’t help considering; it wasn't his business in the end, he deemed, but he was quite sure that, whatever he could have brought with him, James would never find it as satisfying as what he was busy doing.

Probably even more embarrassed than James, Jeremy was lost for words to apologise with, “No, I'm really sorry... also, you probably don't have what I need this time... I’m sorry, I really am… I’d better go now…”, then left.

It had never occurred to him that James could have a boyfriend – _clever in choosing James, in spite of that car,_ he couldn’t help considering while driving home - and blamed Miss Whitby and her worries he was alone for how shocked he had been by that realisation.

Jeremy returned there after a couple of days, this time with an actual request for help, having broken the throttle lever of a Lada Riva they were filming that day. He didn’t ring up in advance, but approached slowly at James’s place, squinting to check for unexpected vehicles before parking in front of the barn.

Nobody mentioned the recent incident. After the issue had been presented, they took their usual places: Jeremy on his seat with a beer, James at his bench. Beer apart, what was entertaining Jeremy was the way James kept telling anecdotes about the story of the car while mending the broken part, abounding in keen details.

"You know far too many things for being an enthusiast only”, he argued, “And you're also particularly cheeky in expressing them - not that I dislike it.”

James cringed a bit; Jeremy’s comment called for a spurt of openness James was stingy of, especially now that he was busy fixing a spring. But all considered, he had already told Jeremy a few more relevant things in the past.

"I worked as a motoring journalist for a while as well, for Autocar, but then they fired me”, he let it go all in one breath, and Jeremy got understandably curious, "Really? What happened?"

"I was writing pieces under three different names to get more money - they found out"; the annoyed eye-roll at the end was so genuinely comical that Jeremy couldn't help bursting out laughing, whilst James continued unperturbed, "Their loss - I was working three times their standard contributors!", and Jeremy had to wipe out his tears for how hard he was cackling.

It didn’t take long for James to repair the part; he had that mesmerizing ability of mending things with the same competent stubbornness he used in arguing over his quirks, and Jeremy wasn’t able to decide which one of the two features was more fascinating.


	5. Brusque - Biased - Complicated

He arrived at James’s taking great care into revving the engine before turning it off, to be sure his ride wouldn’t have passed unnoticed. It worked, since James appeared on the door before Jeremy had time to get off, “Oh bloody Nora, is this an SLR?”, then walked around the car in awe, “…Sport Leicht Rennsport… How did you get to drive one of these?”, while Jeremy got out and leant against the car, legs crossed. “You know, the BBC has the money…”, Jeremy bragged smugly.

James jolted: “You work for the BBC?”

That bit of information flashed through James’s synapses too fast to be adequately processed, taking part to a twisted equation in which ‘BBC’ equalled ‘famous’ equalled ‘rich’. And ‘rich’, to James’s miserable experience, inevitably translated into ‘mean’, if not plainly evil. James had dealt with that long before and wasn’t keen on repeating the experience – once burnt, twice shy.

Oblivious to it all, Jeremy reply was an innocently proud, almost smug, “Yes!”

“Oh yes?”, James hissed, “Let me guess: Top Gear, right?”, his out of the blue annoyance now audible.

Unable to understand what was wrong with his job or what else might have unsettled James like that, Jeremy measured his tone, “Er… yes actually…” but that didn’t affect James’s disappointed resentment.

“Why the hell you’ve never told me?”, he brusquely asked.

“Oh come on, I didn’t want to brag... And you were right about the old Top Gear”, _and I also can’t get over the fact someone hasn’t watched my show yet. Especially someone like you – especially now that I can’t understand,_ “What’s wrong with that though?”

James pulled himself together for a moment, only to lie ostensibly, “Nothing”, but he didn’t resist long from retorting, “I mean, you must be famous, and rich, and I keep having you sitting in a junkyard…”

“Never been a problem.”

Sincere and straight from the gut. Apart from the couple of time he’d almost injured himself on sharp parts he shouldn’t have messed with, Jeremy could have sworn he was absolutely at ease at James’s place as well as with him. Especially with him.

James seemed to be of a completely different mind instead. “Jeremy I've made you eat oysters out of a hubcap!”, he retorted.

“And I've enjoyed it! I'm not that posh James!”

“You’re driving a supercar for the BBC, I was pulling dead mice out of an exhaust: I'm sure you can see the difference!”

Jeremy was at his wit’s end, unable to understand James’ point, “I do - but it doesn't change anything, I can have a ride in the SLR, and I can help you with the dead stuff right after – it’s not a problem, I don’t mind it James, really, I’m fine with this.”

James probably haven’t heard a single word, still muttering between himself, “I can’t believe you’ve never told me…”

Palms open at the obviousness of it all, Jeremy replied, “There’s a lot of things you’ve never told me and yet we’re friends all the same, aren’t we?”

Silence. On both sides.

They have never talked about friendship – it just happened, Jeremy thought. He assumed it was the same for James. It felt so, he couldn’t add a different explanation of why he enjoyed spending hours together. His job was a pointless detail just like the fact James did not have one: it was the reason why they met – that, and Miss Whitby’s initiative – but besides that it really didn’t matter. The only important thing was James himself, in the end.

Jeremy tried to downplay the issue, also to avoid overthinking that last remark, “Listen, now you sit next to me and we’ll floor this thing at BBC’s expenses, then I’ll show you my unbelievable competence in pest control.”

“Better not”, James huffed in reply, _better safe than sorry_ , “I mean, I have a lot of stuff to do – there’s this exhaust I’m selling, I need to get it clean before tomorrow... I’d better get back to work actually”, he harshly concluded without even looking at Jeremy.

Suddenly bristled by James’s stubbornness, Jeremy chose to cut it all, “Okay. I’m going then, see you.” He sat back into the SLR, revving it away in a cloud of dust: whatever was wrong with James that day should not have bothered him any longer.

James stood there motionless, bitterness growing in his mouth, waiting for the rumble of the SLR to get lost behind the hill. Then he walked back inside, ignored the exhaust on the workbench, and threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. It didn’t help keeping the bad memories away.

Even beyond his biased opinion, James firmly believed there was no way someone as high-up as Jeremy would have light-heartedly sat a place like that. Since that car basically proved Jeremy wasn’t lying about his job, to James’s experience the only explanation left was that Jeremy had been jerking him around the whole time. Perhaps mingling with such a peasant might have sounded cool for his upper-class friends and colleagues – at least this time he avoided the ensuing humiliation of having been carried around as a hunting trophy, he assumed.

It was a good thing, if pondered: a good reason to stop wondering why Jeremy kept showing up there looking for random spare parts or bringing trinkets, yet extremely disappointing on the moment.

It was the cat that broke the spiral of James was sulking into, appeared from nowhere to brush up against the hand James had left hanging out of the bed, purring loudly. James stroked its smooth fur more than once, one finger playing with the upright tail, before resolving to get up and feed it. Once standing up again, it became harder to ignore the impelling commitment he had left half done in the workshop.

It had taken James a while, after having cooled down from the momentarily unpleasant discover, to admit that he overreacted. He reconsidered it all: words, moves, glances, all while working at the exhaust, rethreading holes, polishing the end pipe. He couldn’t help but concluding that Jeremy wasn’t the two-faced celebrity James feared he could have been. Whether was driving a filthy Marina or a shining SLR, Jeremy was a basic bloke, passionate about his job yet with his feet firmly on the ground. The odd part was how he’d managed to end up on the telly with that unfiltered, straightforward attitude.

Once the exhaust was ready, James took a shower and popped in at Miss Whitby’s with a couple of eggs and a different scope in his mind.


	6. The mess you take is equal to the mess you make

It was the third time Jeremy felt a cramp in his stomach while passing through that crossroad, and he wondered if he should have reconsidered the motorway. He kept repeating himself he did nothing wrong, except perhaps giving too much weight to James’s almost surreal reaction, yet he felt guilty for not having insisted on pulling him out of his barn. It would have done him good - Jeremy strongly believed it: James was too smart to be a lunatic, at least not one of that kind, so there must have been something that actually bothered that much but Jeremy still hadn’t no idea of what it could have been.

That wasn’t the way to deal with it. Especially not his way, Jeremy considered.

Taking the bull by the horns, instead, felt the right thing to do. He made a U-turn and drove up to James’s, determined to discover what the hell was wrong with the fact he was working for the BBC.

Jeremy didn’t have the chance though, because as he appeared on the door of the barn James spoke first: "Oh, hello. I've watched your show.”

“Oh.”

A glimpse of hope. Enough to make Jeremy forget the tirade he was ready to deliver. “Did you actually do?” he asked instead. It came out more wishful than Jeremy wanted it to.

“Yes. At Miss Whitby’s.”

“…so?”

“She didn’t even recognize you, she kept insisting you were a ginger.”

Jeremy snorted. Not what he was waiting for. It was James’s opinion about the show - _his_ _show_ \- he wanted to know, but he wouldn’t humiliate himself and beg for it. So he played along, “Did you dodge the chocolates?”

"No. I had to pretend I ate one - then I called her number with my mobile and, while she picked up, I spit it all. She gave me the whole tin to take home because I seemed to like them.”  
  
"...and?”

"I took it - I dumped the chocolates, but the tin can be pretty useful.”

Jeremy chuckled, badly hiding his growing impatience, but finally James turned serious and said what Jeremy was striving to hear.

“Jeremy. Jeremy Clarkson. That’s not a car show. It's you coming up with different excuses to justify shenanigans with your colleagues. But you're pretty good at it - and I quite envy how easily you put your hands on such cars.”

 _Oh, finally_. All things considered it sounded like a compliment, but Jeremy realized it wasn’t all he wanted to hear from James either. So, before James began beating around the bush again, Jeremy resolved to plainly ask for the missing part.

“Is it the reason why you are mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. I just… wasn’t expecting that, and... I could understand you didn’t want me to take advantage of your position, but-”, and James took a big breath before going on, “-your ‘omission’ triggered memories from an unpleasant experience I had long ago.”

“With Top Gear presenters, BBC employees or motoring journalists in general?”, Jeremy couldn’t resist inquiring, whilst James only wanted to forget about it as soon as possible, “Really don’t want to talk about it any longer - he never deserved much attention.”

“Got it”, Jeremy nodded, yet kept silently wondering who could have hurt James like that, to the point of distrusting a whole professional field, and what kind of guy James must have fallen for before Martin; he was already pulling up an argument all of his own about how Martin didn’t seem to get too much care of James either, whilst James carried on his own speech, apologising.

“So… I’m sorry I’ve been such an arse towards you, you haven’t done anything wrong – and again, your Top Gear looks like quite a different car show.”

 _It’s The. Car. Show. Or at least it’s going to be as soon as they let me do it properly_ , but Jeremy was so relieved that James wasn’t cross with him that avoided pointing it out loud. “No problem”, he replied instead, but still felt like he had to clarify a couple of things before James got the wrong impression out of him again.

“And, about the shenanigans and my overall attitude, I hope you understand I’m overdoing it a bit for the sake of the show – my flaws remain the same though.”

James wouldn’t call them flaws. Straightforwardness, self-mockery, not least genuine benevolence. James had evaluated them all in his recent analysis. Even the lack of manual skills was balanced by the admiring respect he showed for craftsmanship. Therefore, to James’s standards, it was hard to find a flaw. Alarmingly hard.

“Well… I guess they work on the telly…”, James babbled having realised he had remained silent for too long.

“I deeply hope so”, Jeremy grumbled, then casually asked, “May I use the loo?”

“Sure, you know the way.”

Jeremy nodded and headed towards the living quarter; he stopped after a few steps, right on the door, and turned to James again, “You know, we use to have doors at the BBC, but that has never prevented me from using your loo – just saying.”

James frowned at him, “Jeremy”, but Jeremy didn’t seem to care:

“It’s all fine, that’s all”, and went inside.

James huffed a long sigh. There was at least one detail James feared it wasn’t completely fine, but he could have dealt with it. Jeremy straightness would have surely helped. Nevertheless, when invited to be part of the audience – “With benefits-”, Jeremy added, “-since you’re a friend of mine” – James didn’t feel like accepting. Despite how much they needed more public, Jeremy was a bit too charismatic while presenting, in a way that made James bit his lips more than once while slouched on Miss Whitby’s couch. Jeremy didn’t insist and left right after, headed to the track; he got back in the evening, bringing with him the best bottle of wine he found at the nearby Tesco that could fit inside James’s bottle holder.


	7. I’d say “Please” if my life didn’t depend on you

It ended up with Jeremy popping in almost every day, calling first if he was particularly off-schedule – for good measure in case Martin was there. The place wasn’t exactly on his shortest way home but having a good chat with James was well worth it. And, week after week, leaving were getting more demanding. It felt almost impolite towards James, who had had the patience to listen to his ramblings; at the same time, though, every time James had offered to make dinner Jeremy didn’t feel like accepting, fearing he was already taking too much advantage of him. James stopped asking, but sometimes he gave Jeremy a couple of eggs from his hens to bring home.

Having someone stopping there only for the fun of quarrelling over the most insignificant topics was the best thing James could have asked for; lately though, Jeremy’s soliloquies became more frequent and increasingly centred over the show and its problems.

James listened. Let Jeremy vent all his worries. Reflected. Came to terms with the fact he was fancying Jeremy. Understood he didn’t have a chance. All without saying a word about it.

It was another one of those losing games James seemed to master against his will. Not the first time he had a crush on the wrong guy though; if experience had taught him something, he’d have better keep his gaze focused on whatever trinket he was working on, and his considerations about Jeremy’s dark curls, blue eyes and long legs strictly to himself.

He recognised the masochistic side of it, but plainly telling him ‘Please quit coming here because I’ve fallen for you and it hurts a bit' was out of the question: the half-hours Jeremy used to spend there had become the highlight of his days – for as sad as that statement could sound – and James wouldn’t give that up for a reason that sounded so pointless in his mind.

At the end of the last rant, expressed while James was busy unscrewing something over his workbench, Jeremy snorted, “Come on, we’ve also made the news, you should have read about us somewhere!”

"Bah, I only read Autocar and I have a subscription, so I don't get to the newsagent often…"

"Autocar? Didn’t they fire you?", Jeremy asked.

James nodded affirmatively, gaze still focused on the tip of the screwdriver.

“And you pay them a subscription?"

"Yes. And every month I write them a letter pointing out what was wrong in their last issue", James proudly stated, before chuckling at his own words.

Sharp. Foolish. Brilliant. Jeremy stared at James in awe, astonished at his own epiphany: “You would be perfect for the show”, he muttered, louder than he thought.

James’s reaction was a surprised “What?” that made Jeremy realise he couldn't pull back what he’d just said. Why should he, also? James was in fact a suitable candidate for the role. Smart and competent, _funnier than Jason for sure,_ and, most important, Jeremy was perfectly at ease with him - and he was quite sure it would have been the same for Richard. So, in the end, why not?

“Er... I was thinking about you – as a presenter… for the show…”, Jeremy admitted under his breath.

James visibly thought about it a few seconds, dismissing the chance with a shake of his head, “Bah, I'm not sure I could do that, even if asked to.”

“Be an insufferable wit firm on his opinions, no matter how silly they are? That’s all you’ll have to do. No offense, but I’m sure you wouldn’t have to make a special effort.”

The pretended umbrage first and the pleased chuckles right after unintentionally confirmed Jeremy’s theory, _he is the right one_ _._

“Come on, just think about it! No, right, you barely know what it’s about, but, believe me, you’ll do great with me and Hammond…”

"You don't like that Jason, do you?”, James couldn’t help remarking.

"He's the wrong guy in the wrong place. It’s like he’s not even working there! The season is going to end soon and he hasn’t realized what he’s doing yet - the whole show is going to end soon, if I don't find out a way to save it…”

James nodded, understanding, like he had done some many times lately, but got back to his work like nothing had happened and that was only another one of Jeremy’s rants. Given the ensuing lack of responses, Jeremy felt the need to point out, “I was serious”.

James turned his head towards him again, this time astonished, “Really?”

“You aren’t a layman in the field, and I like the way you explain things, so...”

Not as persuaded as Jeremy hoped, James kept looking at him with an unsettling lack of interest, so Jeremy tried to push him,

“You could give it a try... Just... I mean, I can put the right word with the right people...”

James’s indifference turned into wariness, “Why should I?”

The sharp pang of pain that clamped Jeremy’s chest was absolutely unexpected, yet Jeremy swallowed it down like it wasn’t related to the ongoing issue; heart attack or whatever, he was too busy with important stuff to care about it. Like convincing James, mainly. Even if he was going short of incentives. So he went for broke.

”Er... because I’m asking you...?”

James tilted his head, blue eyes wide with puzzlement, lips parted but no words coming out of them. Or Jeremy couldn’t hear them over his own heartbeat pounding in his temples.

“For one season only...”, Jeremy blabbered as his last resort. He wasn’t sure if staring insistently at James was a useful strategy, but those genuine puppy eyes helped him more than he thought since, after seconds that felt longer than usual to Jeremy’s perception, James capitulated.

“Fine. But... just a try, no commitments whatsoever, okay? Not that it’s going to work anyway...”

“Yes, sure, obviously!”, Jeremy assured, gesturing vaguely like he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore, somehow realising he would have done the wrong thing anyway.

“Just... thank you”, he concluded briskly, while something beyond happiness was urging him to avoid remaining there longer. Jeremy didn’t investigate it further: he stood up from his seat and grabbed his jacket, without putting it on, “And… I’d better go now. See you James!”, then, already on the door, “I’ll let you know the date!”

It wasn’t that unusual for Jeremy to bolt away like that, often over an idea he’d just had for the show, so James just shrugged and got back to work.


	8. Don’t make me say what I don’t want to say, don’t tell me what I already know

It took a while to convince Andy and the other top dogs, but Jeremy managed to set up an audition for James, claiming that they might need a spare presenter, _just in case_.

James was summoned at the track for the try-out the day the last episode was being filmed. The black clouds had him reluctantly choose to get there by car, but beside that James remained unperturbed by their ominous look, not having any expectations over the incoming task.

The bad weather matched Jeremy’s mood that day instead; he only cheered up a bit when one of their assistants appeared escorting James through the studio. After a quick introduction, Andy gave James a paper containing data of three different cars, to present and comment to his liking, then sat down and waited for him to begin talking.

Jeremy followed James’s improvised presentation from a corner of the hangar, biting his nails the whole time; Richard was next to him, having accepted to be an onlooker despite disagreeing with Jeremy’s choice of proposing someone else so blatantly behind Jason’s back.

As soon as Andy dismissed James, Jeremy strode towards him, almost more hyped than James himself. “Well done mate”, he smiled, aborting at the last moment the instinctive attempt to put an arm around his shoulders, “I’d say succinct for your standards - not a bad thing though.”

“Thank you”, James chuckled happily, “Well that’s mostly because my bladder is bursting… is there a loo here?”

Jeremy pointed the way and, after checked for James to be safely beyond hearing distance, he turned to Richard and beamed, “He is perfect, isn’t he?”

"I’m not as enthusiastic as you but, yes, I can't deny there's some potential – he is too tall though.”

Jeremy shook his head, ultimately ignoring Richard’s words, “He's brilliant. Yes, I know – he’s a weirdo, but he’s extremely intelligent and skilled, and, for as unbearable as he can be when he explains things, he always knows what he’s talking about, it’s fascinating – utterly, utterly brilliant!”

Richard was stunned at uncommon fervour in Jeremy’s description, especially since it came to a person instead that to a car, “Well why did you realize he could be the right one just now then, if I may ask?”

_Good question, why?_ “Er… I haven’t been knowing him from too long… but, since we’re walking on thin ice, I guess he’s worth a try... I know it may sound odd but, the more I think about it, the more I know he’s going to be the right one!”

Perhaps it was Jeremy’s enthusiasm, perhaps the wording, anyway Richard couldn’t help asking, “Jeremy... are you sure you've brought him here for the show only? I mean, it looks like you fancy him!”

Richard was already chuckling at his own silly joke, but Jeremy turned pale. He tried to hide behind a hand, scrubbing his face before dropping down to sit on the trunk right behind him. Naked. Emptied. Almost insulted in his own intelligence, considering how quickly Richard lined out his miserable situation. Perhaps it was easier for him, since he wasn’t directly involved, Jeremy tried to justify. Whatever, the state of play was the same: Richard’s explanation fitted perfectly.

Well used to Jeremy’s tantrums whenever he couldn’t just get what he wanted, Richard rolled his eyes and began with the apologies he knew he was supposed to provide anytime Jeremy had given him the silent treatment after something he’d said.

“Oh, come on Jeremy, it was a lame joke! And I agree with you, he could fit and you’ve done the right thing in bringing him here. Now please stop acting like I’ve killed your attempt at saving the show, it’s fine. Stand up. Please.”

"It's not fine”, Jeremy whined, just to say something barely related to the only bit of Richard’s speech he’d heard but didn’t move anyway. Richard didn’t dare to ask for further details, also because meanwhile James reappeared from the wrong corner of the hangar, apologising, "Sorry, I got lost out of the loo...”

Richard barely stifled a laugh, whilst James couldn’t help asking “Jeremy? Is everything all right?", seeing the deflated version of the man he had left there some minutes earlier.

Getting a hold over himself, Jeremy straightened up and provided an explanation right off the cuff, "Oh, yes, it’s nothing... I mean, budget cuts, rating points, this kind of boring stuff – told you, we’re not doing great…”

"Yes, I see… So... thanks again for the chance, hope I didn't disappoint you”, then, to Richard, “It's been really nice to meet you.”

"My pleasure. I’ll take you outside before you get lost again – is it okay, Jeremy?”, he asked in an overly-accommodating tone.

Jeremy nodded, then told James, "As soon as I know something I'll let you know, okay?”

“No problem. Thank you again Jeremy, see you”, James concluded, and Jeremy forced himself to smile back. His head fell in his hands again as soon as they’ve turned away.

As they were walking side by side, Richard went through the small talk he didn’t have the chance to made earlier, “So… what pushed you to apply for this job, James?”

"Oh well, it was Jeremy’s idea actually; he was so enthusiastic about it that I couldn't find the strength to tell him no. But I’m not even sure this is my kind of stuff, I've told him more than once but he can be so obstinate sometimes…”

"Yeah, he can... Oh jeez is that your car?”

Richard squealed at the sight of the Bentley T2, James’s pride and joy, parked outside. The rain-bearing clouds were preventing the polished details from shining as James would have wanted them to, but the unusual car stood out all the same. James beamed, “Yes!”.

"Well, if it is a ‘dress to impress’ choice I’m not sure it’s going to work – we’re more into supercars, you know…”, Richard chortled, albeit astonished by James’s ride.

"No, it's my daily... well actually I usually ride a motorbike, but this is my only car – the only functioning one, at least.”

Richard lighted up: "You’re a biker? Really? Why didn't you say it earlier?”

“Oh well… thought we were here for the cars… I mean, Jeremy isn’t into bikes at all.”

“No, right, he loathes them, the oaf!”, Richard granted, making James snort.

“Well, let’s just hope there will be another chance to talk about that, right?”, Richard kept going, “Really have to get back inside now. So, goodbye James.”

“Bye Richard, have a nice day.”

James hoped to get back home before it started raining, for the Bentley’s sake. He didn’t manage to.

When Richard walked back inside the hangar Jeremy was still sat on the trunk, holding his head in both hands like a grieving statue. Richard didn’t let the miserable scene affect him, and loudly retorted instead, "He's a biker and you haven't told me!”, secretly hoping to shake him up a bit.

"Exactly. Since I didn't want to have this conversation”, Jeremy replied without moving.

Richard shook his head, "It was all your idea... did you really think you could coax someone into presenting a car show against his own will?”

Stung by the allegation, Jeremy finally raised his head, “He is the right one, he just didn’t know. He will be the perfect counterpart for the two of us. How can you not see that?”, he replied.

Richard sighed before conceding, "Okay, I must admit it, he could do...”, mostly to avoid arguing with Jeremy: James might have been a suitable candidate, but Richard really couldn’t see the need for a fourth presenter – and didn’t want to consider any other scenario.

"He can do. And he deserves a chance”, Jeremy sentenced, aiming to end the quarrel.

Richard blatantly mimicked his tone in replying, "And you fancy him”, for Jeremy to eventually snap, "Yes, I do, happy now? But it doesn't change anything, he’s the right one for the show, that’s it.”

Not so sure that Jeremy’s words were only a jest meant to hush him, Richard avoided asking further anyway, also because Andy came to call them and begin the rehearsal, and with a strenuous effort Jeremy switched back to his professional self, temporarily forgot about James and walked to the stage.


	9. The storm is up and all is on the hazard

When the last red LED on the cameras turned off, Jeremy silently thanked God for having managed to get to the end of the season despite it all. Everyone parted too tensely to even think about going to the pub for one last pint. The only one that could have accepted an invitation was Richard, if only he hadn’t already bolted back home; considering the last events, though, Jeremy concluded it was better like that.

The ongoing rainstorm showed no sign of decreasing, the clouds were dark and heavy as far as the eye could see. Jeremy drove off the track with only one thing in mind and that thing was James.

James, whose name has kept ringing around Jeremy’s mind for the most unthinkable reasons for too long. James who was his only hope to save the show. James that had probably realized the extent of Jeremy’s interest the way Richard did, or James that was too much of an oddball and out of the world to have understood it – Jeremy couldn’t decide which scenario was the worst.

Driving in those weather conditions was too demanding to allow even the briefest distraction needed to ring James up, so Jeremy gave up calling him first, and just hoped Martin wasn't there comforting him more than Jeremy could. _Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Not now. Not in a bloody rainstorm._ _Not while you're struggling to see the road in front of your car, that's the worst possible moment to wonder up to what point you're willing to comfort him, please stop._

The visibility was so scarce that Jeremy almost missed the crossroad heading to James's; once miraculously there, he parked sideways and run to the door as quick as he could, shouting like a polar explorer left out of the research station when he discovered it was locked up, “James! Jaaames!”

James opened the door, in an almost upset bewilderment, to find the wettest, gloomiest Jeremy he’d ever seen.

“Weren’t you going home after the show?”

Jeremy didn’t even hear him. “Are you alone?”, he replied.

It sounded the most senseless question ever to ask in the middle of a downpour, and it took a split second for James to answer, “Of course I am, get inside”.

Jeremy did and James closed the door behind them, “It didn’t go well, mh?”

“No - I mean, I don’t know. Haven’t talked with Andy yet. I just wanted to see you.”

James looked at him in comprehensible puzzlement, and Jeremy couldn’t do anything but stare back, the two of them standing in front of each other in uncomfortable embarrass.

 _Well done Clarkson. Now do fucking something, for God’s sake. Say something, possibly less stupid,_ but James was quicker to recover, “Well… Fancy a cup of hot cocoa? I was going to make some, weather called for it.”

“Yes please”, _and thanks, you blessed, merciful James_.

Jeremy followed him through the door leading to the living quarter, to find it darker than he recalled: the only light sources were a few candles, the blue flames of a lit burner and the red glow from the wood stove. The cat was curled up in his basket - actually a well-cushioned rim – and didn’t pay much attention at Jeremy’s arrival.

“Candles?”, he asked, curiosity overcoming embarrassment.

“Blackouts are frequent here, so I would probably have to light some all the same… they also warm up the place, so why not? You can collect their wax and pour it again over a new wick, they’re nearly eternal.”

Jeremy shivered. Not with cold - the place was indeed warmer than he thought. He shivered at the realisation he agreed with James. He couldn’t deny candles were the best solution. He couldn’t fight with James.

That could only mean the one thing Richard hinted at - Jeremy didn’t find the strength to word it. He sank in his seat, defeated, passively accepting his failure: James could be brewing the hot cocoa out of burnt motor oil, providing a good reason for having done so, and Jeremy would be happy to drink it all the same.

Good thing James didn’t want to chat, so Jeremy had all the time he needed to come to term with his epiphany the bare minimum needed to not freak out there and then. He forced himself to breath slowly, focusing on something calming, like the sound of the rain incessantly pounding on the roof, to persuade himself that everything was under control. He stared at the shapes on the wall, shadows from all the flickering lights overlapping, dancing to the crackling of the wood burning in the stove.

Jeremy wondered if James’s silence was deliberately intended to make space for his thoughts, if was just another of the infinite ways they fit together like jigsaw pieces- _oh hell no no no, not again, don’t, don’t ever think something similar, not now, not here, not with him so close,_ and he had to begin the whole self-persuading ritual from the start.

It was clear something was wrong with Jeremy, probably going beyond his concerns for the show, but human behaviour was far from being his field of expertise so, to play it safe, James didn’t say a word. Eventually, James handed Jeremy a fuming mug, “Here’s”, and he had to snap out of his dwelling to grab it with the necessary care, “Thank you.”

Absent-minded again soon, this time Jeremy focused on the hot cocoa. It was years since he last had one. He almost didn’t recall how good it tasted, or probably it was James’s recipe that was particularly balanced. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect treat after having faced the storm to reach James, another example of James’s sodding skilfulness – or probably of how much his point of view was biased when James was somehow involved.

James remained silent, trying not to look at Jeremy, failing soon after. He gave a sidelong glance, seeing Jeremy’s profile lightened by the reddish glares: gaze lost in the stove, weary and shaken, right there yet deep in his thought miles away. James was waiting for some bad news about the show but Jeremy kept sipping the cocoa, pretending everything was fine.

Jeremy tried to maintain his breath steady despite the increasing heart rate, still focusing on the content of his mug, hot against his lips. He found himself wondering how hot it would feel on James’s lips, if James’s lips would taste as sweet and hot as it. And panicked right after.

Unable to raise his gaze from the cup, he drank the remaining chocolate in one long gulp, _and if I choke to death here and now it's probably for the best_ , then stood up and left the mug in the sink while announcing, “I have to go now.”

James remained unperturbed, like he was expecting such a reaction; he made a feeble attempt to keep Jeremy there, without even knowing if it would have been a good idea, “Are you sure? It’s still bucketing down.”

 _No. I’m anything but sure. I’m only sure I’ll screw this up,_ “I’d better go.”

James finally turned to face him despite the utter discomfort, unable to say anything better than “I’d really like you to stay, but I understand I don’t have much to offer…”

A pang of resentment, subdued just in time to avoid enlisting all the things James could or had offered up to that moment; a minimal hesitation in his stride while explaining “I really need to go”, _as soon as possible, for everybody’s sake._

“Okay - just.. take care”, James concluded.

Jeremy slammed the door and started the car, driving away with less respect than usual for its gearbox, silently thanking the Range Rover he had that day for how it handled the muddy road.

James walked back to his cup of cocoa. The cat was still crouched in its bed, unperturbed by the bustle, careless whether Jeremy was there or not; James wondered if it was a lesson to live by, albeit learned too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, act 5 scene 1


	10. Slow down my beating heart

During the ride home Jeremy called almost everyone on his contact list, with different excuses, just to keep his mind busy, despite the rustling over the speakerphone or the senselessness of his calls. He deliberately skipped calling his mum, or Richard, or Andy. He wondered he if should ask Stephen for advices, but that would be too much of an admission, so no.

The rain and the endless chatting had worn him out; by the time he'd reached his flat Jeremy was so tired and confused that it took all his will to not fall asleep under the shower, and he wasn't exactly sure of how he'd reached his bed.

He woke up there, tangled in the ruffled linen, and while unscrambling his thoughts he recalled how rudely he'd left James a few hours earlier. The next - unfortunately - logical thought was wondering how he was doing now, if he was asleep, if he was mad at him.

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck again._ This time Jeremy wasn't driving in the middle of a storm, he hadn't any excuse to avoid taking the stock of things - being three in the morning didn't apply, his insomnia had him used to quite an odd schedule - and chose to come to term with _it_ \- _Great, you can't even say it._ _What was the verb Richard used, 'fancying'? Really? What the hell do you call the butterflies in your stomach when you're almost fifty and allegedly heterosexual, and there's this weird bloke you can't help thinking of?_

First, apologise with James for the way he’d left him. The best way to still was under discussion: it wasn't something he could do over the phone, obviously. But going there in person had its downsides - see point two. Anyway, he could have blamed his worries for the show, only it wouldn't explain why of all the places he'd rushed at James's. But maybe James wouldn’t have care enough to it point out.

Second, forget about it all. _He wasn't flirting with me_ , and if at that time it had sounded quite relieving, now Jeremy must have admitted it hurt a bit. But it worked as a short-term justification before further analysis. ‘There’s Martin' did not: Jeremy had only met him that one time and James never mentioned him again either, god knew what was going on between them.

It was enough to allow Jeremy to sleep a bit more, postponing the task of finding out what was that something that felt wrong until breakfast. Then, in front of a cup of coffee going cold, Jeremy attempted at a more lucid analysis of his miserable situation.

The butterflies were a matter of fact, Jeremy didn’t even try to argue about it anymore; it was probably the weirdest crush ever but having feelings for a bloke wasn’t an absolute taboo – Jeremy was way more worried of the implications such a thing could have or, worse, had had.

It didn’t bothered Jeremy if James had become his first thought in the morning and his last one before falling asleep; he recalled how crushes worked, nothing strange in it. The worrisome part was the effects of such an infatuation over the other important bits of Jeremy’s life, that quickly summed up in one thing: the show.

Jeremy emptied the whole cup in the sink, still wondering if, like for the hot cocoa, his judgement was too biased, James wasn’t in fact the right one to replace Jason and Richard’s tepid reaction wasn’t due to the inappropriate timing only. _Perhaps the coffee wasn’t that cold either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles comes from U2's song "[In a little while](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ML1HrQCVt8)"


	11. Faraway, right in front of my eyes

Jeremy popped up at James’s by mid-morning, firm on his resolutions: apologize and take time. The latter was a sugar-coated version of the stricter decision he’d made in first place, even if he still didn’t know what to wait for exactly.

The barn door was open; Jeremy walked in announcing himself with unusual sobriety, “Good morning James”, ready to declaim the accurately worded speech whose last bits had been put together while he was driving there.

Standing in front of his workbench, busy as usual, James raised his head, “Hey, hello – any news?”, eyes bright under the messy locks.

He was wearing another of his awful striped jumpers, gaudy at the point Jeremy almost lost track of the reason he’d gotten there and blinked before explaining, “Oh, no, not yet. Er, I only wanted to apologize for having been rude last night. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have offloaded onto you but, told you, we’re up shit creek with the show. Also, since we have an office in London where we meet up while not filming, I don’t think I’ll be able to get back here soon.”

 _Perfect_ , Jeremy silently concluded.

“No problem, you don’t have to apologise. And you shouldn't even have gone to all this trouble, a phone call would have been enough.”

James replied. Caring, yet somehow disappointingly unruffled. Mainly, staring back into Jeremy’s eyes in a way that quickly became unbearable. “No it wouldn’t”, Jeremy concluded; then, before the way James tilted his head made it all more difficult, he walked away, “See you James.”

Jeremy didn’t ever hear James’s reply, if there was one.

The next Tuesday Andy rang him up to inform him Jason had quit and they were going to offer James the role for next season – “You’re probably willing to tell him yourself since he’s your friend”, Andy guessed.

Jeremy thanked Andy, easily ignored the first part of the dialogue and began wrecking his head on the latter. Was he happy that James was going to be on the show? Sure – even without the added perk of not having Jason around anymore. Was he terrified at the prospect of having to pretend he wasn’t pining for him? Absolutely.

Then it dawned on him.

Roles. Boundaries. Responsibilities. Everybody’s eyes on him.

It would have been a good thing. It would have helped keeping his feelings under control.

He would resolve to behave. If not for the sake of the show itself, for the threat of having to deal with the Human Resources manager.

It could work.

It seemed such a good plan that Jeremy quickly resolved on driving up to James’s, with renewed enthusiasm, to tell him the news. Wired by the quality of the solution he’d found, Jeremy slammed on the brakes right in front of James’s door, jumping out of his car already shouting, “Jaaames!”, and entering the barn with full force, his arms wide in triumph, "They loved you! You're in!”

After the legitimate flinch, James raised a suspicious eyebrow – hands still firm on the parts he was working on, "Let me guess, Jason quit and you don't have anyone else for the show”, he cooled Jeremy out.

"Warm”, Jeremy had to grant it, “He quit, but we don't need to try out anyone else because the producers think you would be fine.”

James snorted and shook his head. He grabbed a cloth that wasn’t much different from the shirt he was wearing and cleaned his hands with it while walking closer to Jeremy.

Standing right in front of him, James took a deep breath before speaking, "Jeremy… We’ve probably never discussed it seriously enough but... well, I'm not sure it's my cup of tea…”

Jeremy placed his hands on James’s shoulders, staring straight at his eyes, "You'll be perfect”, then, rough in his throat, “I do need you James.”

The unexpected contact made James uncomfortable, wariness reflecting into his words, "Are you looking for a scapegoat if everything goes south?”

Jeremy’s grasp got weaker, "No. It will be all my fault. I’ll take the blame whatever is going to happen”, then he pulled his hands away, arms now loose along his sides.

James remained silent, visibly pondering the offer. Jeremy wondered what else he could say to convince him – what else he could say _that doesn’t give out how fucked up I am yet manages_ to convince him, but his options were running extremely low.

Eventually, James gave in, "…fine.”

Not exactly the fervent reply Jeremy was hoping for – still an affirmative one, thought, so on the spur of the moment Jeremy threw himself over James and hugged him; it took a whole second to realize James’s embarrassed stiffness under his embrace, and another one to understand that contact was messing with his own tucked away feelings as well.

He released his grasp and took a step back, “Sorry. I’m just really happy you’ve accepted. It’s going to be great!”, but couldn’t help noticing the blush over James’s cheeks he was sure it wasn't there before the hug.

They agreed to meet up in London the next day so that Jeremy could have shown him their office and introduced him to the crew. It would be a good test for Jeremy’s strategy, also: having to deal so closely with James had already raised some issues Jeremy hadn’t considered thoroughly, so he left the place as soon as possible while promising himself to fine-tune the plan during the rest of the day.

While he was opening the door of his Merc, James appeared again on the door, “Oi, Jeremy, wait… one last thing.”

”Uh?”

“Do you think… I mean, are you sure I’m the right one?”

Jeremy shivered.

“You’ll be perfect. Everybody is going to love you”, then, to himself, _I already do_.

He took shelter inside his car, ashamed of what he’d just conceived; he grabbed his phone and rang Richard before turning the engine on, mostly to avoid overthinking his own last words, then drive away as fast as possible.

“James’s in – it’s going to be great”, he shouted as soon as Richard picked up, trying to sound convincing for both of them.

“Oh. Well, good for him, I guess, right?”

“Oh come on… you know we needed to change something to save the show!”

“Oh, yes, sure. By the way, Jason sends you wishes – you really don’t want to know which ones though.”

“Shall I actually care? Things with him have never been smooth, and it has gotten worse lately... he didn’t even get to the pub with us!”

"Are you sure it's just the pub you want to go with that James?”, Richard joked, but this time Jeremy was ready to reply, “Oh let’s hear the jealous hamster, what is he hinting at?”

"Oh nothing. But I still can’t understand if you're doing this for him or for the show.”

The answer could be both, or better a third option Richard hadn’t considered: _Me. I'm doing this all for me. It's the quadrature of the circle: pulling James out of the slum he lives in, preventing myself from nurturing the crush I have on him, revamping the show._ Jeremy couldn’t imagine a better staged plan. “It’s because your brain is smaller than mine”, he harshly replied, “See you Hammond”, and hanged up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to U2's song "[Faraway, so close](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNonGeWR9fI)"


	12. Two is company, three is a crowd

Jeremy helped James through the all the needed paperwork, with detached professionalism and sincere willingness. It was easy: James was his co-presenter. Co-worker. Colleague. Nothing more. Jeremy had also thought about giving him some fashion advices, but perhaps he wasn’t the one to talk - he regretted his choice the day they were filming the first episode together at the sight of James’s suit.

As soon as the cameras cut, Richard elbowed Jeremy as he walked down the stage, before he reached James next to the Bentley, "God Jeremy, ‘blithering idiot’, your flirting game is quite odd, you know?", he sniggered.

Jeremy stopped, leant down that bit to make clear he was talking with him and him only, and hissed, "Don't. I'm serious. Don't, ever."

Grave. Hurt. Cold. Then walked towards James and his car like nothing had happened. And Richard understood.

They managed to get through filming the rest of the episode smoothly, ending at the nearest pub to celebrate all together, like he had always desired - Jeremy couldn’t be any happier. Even while they were leaving the pub, the crew was still circling James, congratulating him for the successful debut, and Jeremy was more than glad he only had the chance to wave James goodnight without talking further. Later, safely alone at the wheel of his car, he heaved a long sigh of relief. It worked. He could do that.

Despite the implicit promise, Richard couldn’t help spotting signs of Jeremy's weakness in having to deal with James daily, when they weren’t actual clues of his crush for James, and often didn't know if to admire his determination or pity him. It wasn’t that easy for James either; good thing his reluctance to be touched turned out pretty comical. Jeremy didn’t complain about it, he found it pretty helpful as well, despite exploiting it sometimes for the sake of the show.

The first time James invited Richard at his place to deal with some aspects of motorbikes maintenance obscure to Jeremy's knowledge, Jeremy had to bite his tongue to avoid both commenting and pouting blatantly. He thought he was the only one entitled to get at James’s - _besides that Martin, granted_ – so discovering his colleagues had spent a ‘lovely Sunday afternoon’ together broke his heart a bit.

His reaction didn’t pass unnoticed by Richard. "I suspect Jeremy is a bit jealous of the time we spend together”, he causally told James the third or fourth time they met in James’s workshop attempting to fire up again an old Indian motorcycle - that day James had asked Jeremy to join them, but the offer had been turned down with too many excuses in Richard’s opinion.

James was too busy tightening a tiny bolt under the bike to answer anything but "Mh?”

Richard kept going, "I may understand him, I mean, he's the one that has brought you there... You were friends before the show in the end, right?”

_Oh._ James suddenly grabbed the first part of Richard’s talk as well, feared where such a conversation was heading to and felt a bit too cornered to keep the level of sincerity Richard deserved, so he opted for the right opposite – deny everything.

"Well, only up to a certain point... at least you and I have some interest in common; Jeremy didn’t do anything but sat here and drink beer – I mean, we talked a bit, but that’s all.”

Harsh. Almost unfair towards Jeremy. Just to be sure he wouldn’t let out how much he missed him - Richard was a nice guy but crushes on colleagues were an awful idea anyway, James deemed, so he believed his choice was for the best.

Week after week, Jeremy was being proven right: Richard had to admit that James was the perfect mate, the missing gear that made the show rolling smoother. Andy was of the same opinion. The producers were of the same opinion. The audience was of the same opinion.

One day Jeremy borrowed from Andy those sheets that passed around during the awful production meetings and show them to James. "See this raising line here? And this peak?”, Jeremy grinned, pointing his finger to the point where the red line was at its maximum, and James couldn’t help but smiling back, hoping his blush wasn’t that noticeable.

He really didn’t care too much about what those graphs showed, but Jeremy seemed so happy, so charmingly happy, that it would have been unfair not to rejoice with him.

Meanwhile, Miss Whitby moved to a retirement home and the hens died one after the other. James didn’t see the point in replacing them now that he was mostly eating out or being fed at the BBC’s expenses.

But what bothered James the most was that, since they were basically spending all their days together, Jeremy wasn't stopping there while going home anymore.

So every night James went back to a place that felt painfully empty in contrast to the busy, lively atmosphere of the track or the office, too tired to take up anything more demanding than playing with the cat.

The one time he opened the door to find it unusually curled up on what was Jeremy’s seat, ears folded for having been caught red-handed, James wasn’t in the mood for scolding, "Oh you can stay there, he won't get back here soon."

The cat didn’t listen and scooted away all the same, and James suddenly felt pathetically alone. He went to the phone and quickly dialled a number, "Hello Martin - it's me, James."

He agreed to meet in an hour, then went for a shower.


	13. Speed has never killed anyone. Suddenly becoming stationary, that's what gets you

There was a proper party planned after the last episode had aired to celebrate the successful season, but the merry atmosphere was already permeating their customary trip to the pub right after having done filming. James wasn’t as joyful as his colleagues, yet he couldn’t proclaim himself dissatisfied: it had been a great journey, an exciting experience, despite that sort of conflictual interest that luckily never managed to spoil it all yet kept lurking in the background. James had promised himself it wouldn’t have messed with the show. He wouldn’t have let it. He owed it to Jeremy.

But now the show had ended, and James had an inkling he was going to be sacked anyway. Story of his life, being sacked, he assumed: everyone around seemed more professional or more affable than him - sometimes both, even without considering Jeremy in the count – so he really couldn’t complain if they weren’t going to renew his contract for another season. Whatever Jeremy might have said about it.

 _Oh, Jeremy_ , he silently sighed, ashamed of such disgusting mellifluousness, yet unable to deny those feelings giving meaning to the longing whine.

Jeremy’s overwhelming cheerfulness wasn’t helping. Andy and Richard, sat at his sides, were probably the worst guardian angels someone could ask for, yet managed to contain his exuberance within acceptable levels. Nevertheless, Jeremy was at his best, and kept proposing a toast to everyone around the table – James had been the first, and blushed a bit – hosting the place like it was his own home, jokes, drinks and all. Yet struggling to keep his eyes off James, that improperly pensive James right in front of him – an arrangement Jeremy had actively avoided during the whole season, providentially.

That night his mood was lighter. The end of the season meant recovering a long-gone peace of mind, a relief similar to the sight he let out at the end of the first episode – only wider. A bit too wide perhaps, Jeremy realised, given the way he kept locking eyes with James after each joke or toast they made. _It’s fine,_ Jeremy considered, _it’s also thanks to him we’re here,_ and decided there was nothing wrong in indulging a bit at that point, he could have blamed the alcohol if needed.

James wouldn’t. It wasn’t the alcohol that persuaded him. It was a deliberate, pondered action. _Be the captain of your own ship. Even if it means go and sink it. Just make a sodding move._

So, when Jeremy decided it was time for him to leave, James announced he was of the same mind, “Good idea, I’d better get back home as well”.

Jeremy hadn’t given much weight to James’s decision, not even when they walked side by side up to their cars. James had assumed that having found two free spots next to each other was some sort of sign from above so, when Jeremy reached the door of his Mercedes-Benz, James stepped closer.

“Jeremy”, he almost croaked, anxiety playing tricks on him, “Just… one last thing.”

“Mh?”

After having checked nobody was around, James explained, “I don’t want to kill the joy, but- I mean, I love the job, I love working with you and Richard, but... I miss you. I fucking miss you.”

Caught off guard, Jeremy didn’t know what to answer. He quickly replayed James’s words in his head and stared at James pondering their possible meaning, realising the chance he was getting the wrong message out of them and would reply something that would turn inappropriate, especially between colleagues, so he tried to take time and possibly change subject too.

“That’s weird”, he eventually offered, “I mean, we’ve been in each other’s pockets daily, for months - you should have gone tired of me by now, the others had”, he joked.

James bit his lips before replying, “It’s... quite the opposite”. Jeremy’s bewilderment at those words reflected in his gaze, for which James had to swallow the knot in his throat before going on, “Please don’t make me talk further, I don’t want to make a fool of myself. It’s just- I just wanted you to know. For fairness, also.”

“Oh.” The relief for not having misunderstood James’s intent quickly subdued to the ensuing concern for the intent itself. Concern, before delight, because now that he had been offered a possibility, Jeremy wouldn’t let it slip by. Whatever the cost.

“So... want to come at mine now, like you used to do? If it’s not too late...”, James carried on talking, and Jeremy didn’t have to think about what to answer: “Yes”, _not like I used to, if I haven’t gotten it all wrong, but yes._

After having released the breath he was unconsciously holding, James grinned at Jeremy, “Good”, then walked to the door of his Bentley, “See you there, then, okay?”, and got inside.

Jeremy sat at the wheel of his car, shivering, with a knotted-up stomach and a high-pitched hiss in his ears. Whatever emotion he had kept quashing, it was now vigorously reacting with the newly acquired knowledge of James’s interest. He gave in and let whatever feeling was foaming up in his chest get the better of him, cursing himself for not having done that months ago. _You’re a moron. A coward, that’s what you are._

Jeremy hushed his own conscience by revving the Mercedes, ready to follow James to the end of the world if needed. He let the Bentley lead the way, regretting his choice soon after: his impatience quickly grew up to the point he thought up of overtaking James, cutting him off and halting him just to pull him out of the window by the lapels of his jacket and kiss him there and then – it was dark outside, no one would have noticed two blokes snogging.

They should have done that in the car park. It was dark all the same, nobody would have noticed that either. He could have pinned James against the side of his wobbly Bentley and kissed him there, that would have been perfect.

If it were up to him, he would have floored down his Mercedes and covered the distance to James’s place in less than ten minutes, just to get there and smooch the hell out of James against the door of the barn – as an appetizer.

He realized he couldn’t drive in such an adrenaline-filled frenzy for the next twenty minutes – _make it thirty, James is bloody slow_ , ”How can you be that calm?”, he shouted at the Bentley’s taillights. If he hadn’t been that tipsy and that wasn’t James’s car, Jeremy would have overtaken him long before. Instead, firm on avoid overthinking what they were going to do, Jeremy used it as a pace car so that his mind could focus on the only other thing he cared enough about - the show. Not that the show was more important. Just, he was quite sure he wouldn’t have to think too much about what to do once at James’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a quote by Jeremy Clarkson


	14. A kiss isn’t just a kiss

Things in the Bentley were indeed quieter – not calmer. James remained concentrate on the road and wasn’t planning any theatrical move but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned all the same. It wasn’t the act itself that worried James; nothing new in snogging a bloke, even if Jeremy wasn’t his standard bloke. Not that he had a standard for blokes actually, but his past crushes or partners were quite different. Jeremy was loud. Outgoing. Shamelessly frank. And allegedly straight. James wondered if he’d been clear enough with his intentions, since he had a feeling that it might have been something quite new for Jeremy instead. _Oh well, we’ll discover soon._

He’d already come to terms with the chance of being unemployed again, he was less comfortable with the other implications of whatever development would follow. It wasn’t a recommendable choice to be so much into Jeremy right from the start- _what start? Slow down James, for the love of God, you know how much it hurts to learn you’ve gotten it all wrong._ He kept checking for the Mercedes’s headlights in his rear-view mirror, both pleased and concerned by their constant presence, until they reached his home.

Jeremy’s resolution to think about the show for the sake of reaching the place safe and sound worked, with the only downside of having actually pondered over James’s importance for the show. So, pensive and anxious, he waited in silence for James to unlock the door and walked inside after him still without saying a word. They didn’t make it to the living quarter though; Jeremy stopped James right after having closed the door, placing a hand on his forearm.

“Listen, it’s not the reason why I’ve followed you here, but I can’t help thinking I’d better take a load off my mind first, so… I want you to stay for the next season, you’ve been brilliant and it’s largely thanks to you that there’s going to be a next season, so it would be pointless if you’ll quit now.”

James stood still, paying attention to Jeremy’s words while staring at those blue eyes clear with sincerity, a light blush over his cheeks James forced himself to believe due to alcohol only.

"But I don't want to have a fight with you, not about the show, not at all. Fighting with you it's the last thing I want. You're the only one that could win me over - beside my mum, maybe - and I quite fear that possibility."

Lowering his gaze out of embarrassment, James replied, "I'm not half as a good fighter as you are.”

Jeremy nodded, "I know - I'd let you win all the same."

Disarmingly sincere. Open-hearted and consequently not so self-confident anymore, contemplating the dreadful possibility James meant something different, something that would have been painfully different at that point. But Jeremy waited for James to look at him again and stared back. Hoping it was enough.

James considered it all. Jeremy’s last statement, obviously, first. The fact he said he was there for a different reason. The way he was looking at him. And decided it was more than enough.

He took a step towards Jeremy, placing one hand after the other on his shoulders and pulling himself closer just enough for their mouths to line up, then closed his eyes and kissed him.

Easily. Lips on lips, on tiptoes to save Jeremy’s neck, carefully balanced and light on his grasp, in case Jeremy wanted to draw back.

Jeremy didn’t. He had thought about the chance more often that he wanted to admit. In the most realistic of his rehearsals he kept repeating himself 'don'tpanicdon'tpanicdon'tpanic' as a mantra; it was a nice discovery to learn he didn't actually need to, since there wasn't anything as apocalyptic as he'd feared, besides his cheeks on fire.

There was nothing strange in kissing James. It was somehow liberating first, yet unmercifully bringing up the fact it was a while since he’d kissed someone – the show had drastically cut his social life. Then, while the potential meaning of those gentle, slow, tentative moves began taking shape in Jeremy’s mind, James broke the kiss. Jeremy opened his eyes to a flushed, panting James that had already slid his hands on Jeremy’s chest, swift to ask, "Is this all right?"

"Yes”, he breathed, confident yet still gobsmacked by such an accomplishment. James just nodded, bright-eyed, then licked his lips and asked again with unequivocable desire, “Mind if...?”,

No, Jeremy didn’t mind at all. He hadn’t stopped shaking his head in reply yet that James was already over his lips again, warm, wet and inviting. It didn’t take him long to finally find James’s tongue against the tip of his, then over, then around. Eventually, Jeremy recalled he had hands and how to use them, and for once James didn’t complaint about being touched.

James had to withdrawn his allegation: there was something new in snogging Jeremy off all the blokes. Blame his unexpected commitment or their allegedly professional ones, having Jeremy melting over his lips like that was the last thing James could have dreamt of – yet he was there, hot and sweet and perfect beyond expectations. Pledges of prudence already betrayed over a neediness he didn’t want to admit, the realization of which almost scared him, James broke the kiss again, ostensibly to check on Jeremy,

There’d been a third time, as Jeremy felt the need to kiss James on his initiative, before he managed to put together a sensible statement, "I can't decide if to say everything that's coming up to my mouth now or just keep quiet and indulge”, murmured over James’s lips.

"There will be time to talk later, if I may suggest…”, James replied, his eyes lusciously at half mast messing with Jeremy’s composure. Jeremy couldn’t restrain from replying, “I deeply hope there will be time to kiss again as well”

And, since they were somehow quarrelling about time, he couldn’t prevent it slipping out, “Why haven’t you told me before?”

It wasn’t a retort – Jeremy hadn’t been any better at it - it was mostly genuine curiosity and a slight fear he had inadvertently turned down any previous attempt. James had the answer ready, “Thought you were straight. When I began to suspect something, you offered me the job, and I thought it was enough to justify your different attitude. And then there was the show.”

Jeremy couldn’t object anything, he also thought he was straight; then James made it look like a minor detail and Jeremy reckoned it didn’t matter anymore. The show was a relevant point instead, he quickly deemed while still holding James in his arms, and silently thanked him for his tact, but there was another issue that Jeremy was worried of. That James did not mention. Therefore, he felt compelled to investigate.

“What about Martin, if I may ask?”

James pulled away a bit; “You said you didn’t care who I was shagging”, he hushed Jeremy, somehow defensive except for a spark in his eyes.

“Well, er, that was a long time ago, first, and, I mean, if he’s still your boyfriend, well, I really need to understand what we’re doing now…”

Smirking, James nuzzled against Jeremy’s jawline before replying, "He's a callboy Jeremy. He makes money out it, and he was growing tired that I kept calling him the wrong name."

_Ouch._ Too many revelations all together. Such an overload of emotions made everything Jeremy would have better save for further evaluation coming to surface, overwhelmingly. He tightened his embrace to be sure James wouldn’t go away before confessing the desperate hopelessness that was forcing his to admit, “I’m still not sure about what I am supposed to do now…”

“You're not supposed to do anything you don't want to, I'm just happy you're here”, James replied, sweet and understanding.

“I'm happy to be here with you but I can't help thinking my bed in London is much larger than yours”, Jeremy replied, straight from his gut – a statement that made James’s jaw drop, “Oh, that's… quite an offer, you know?”

He knew. He was speaking at an unsafe level of unfiltered sincerity – would he regret it? Who knew, it didn’t matter, James was worth the risk, “I can't promise you anything, I'm bloody scared by the whole thing but this- this thing here, staying this close, touching and kissing, this is good, and I'm sure it's going to be even better in a larger bed, that's all I can say.”

Speechless, James tilted his head out of astonishment, but Jeremy probably mistook it for wariness given how quick he was to explain further.

“Please don't get offended, I've only felt something similar with women before, I hope you can understand my puzzlement - it happened to find some bloke particularly attractive but... this is different.”

"I'm quite happy it's different", James said, locking eyes with him before kissing him again, sweetness over lust this time.

“Want to come to mine right now?”, Jeremy sputtered right out of his gut as they parted to breath, inhibitions gone and no intentions of containing himself any longer.

James almost jolted at that proposal, “God Jeremy...”, and the ensuing hesitation held Jeremy’s chest hostage until James explained his reasons behind it, “I mean, now? Isn’t it too late?”

“Yeah”, Jeremy resume breathing and replied, “Do want me to get back to London all alone?”, dropping his puppy eyes for good measure.


	15. The future has been here forever

James packed the few things he needed and reached Jeremy in the Mercedes. It took them a bit longer to actually leave since when they found themselves sat next to each other it was unavoidable to kiss again, despite the encumbering bits of German automotive tech between them.

“Well...”, James panted breaking the kiss, “You’d better turn that key if we want to get to London before dawn.”

“Right”, Jeremy granted. “It’s just… I’m so bloody happy James”, he added while starting the engine; James’s “Me too” got muffled by the reverse whining.

Despite Jeremy’s profound happiness, words weren’t coming as easy as he had thought; there was something preventing him from saying out loud all the things piled up in his heart, something stupidly adolescent that knotted his gut in embarrassment and bashfulness. That, and the need to drive safely home, now that all the important things were on the passenger seat. It didn’t help that, for one reason or another, James remained silent as well.

“Mind if we stop for a moment?”, Jeremy finally sputtered, and James almost jolted at it, “No – may I ask why? Feeling sleepy, want me to drive?”

“No...”, Jeremy muttered, “Just wanted to kiss you again – sorry, it’s bloody stupid”, he regretted having said it right after.

James didn’t reply anything but put his hand over Jeremy’s as soon as he grabbed the gear stick; Jeremy looked at James from the corner of his eyes, trying to stay focused on the road, until a lay-by mercifully appeared.

Jeremy halted the car in a spatter of gravel and turned to James almost at the same time, to find him already leant forward with the perfect angle for their lips to match. And that was much clearer than whatever complicate concept Jeremy had been trying to explain with words. And more pleasant.

Eventually, they broke the kiss and Jeremy drove the car back on the road. After some minutes of silence, James asked, absolutely serious, “We’ve just gone past another lay-by and you didn’t stop, are you sure you’re fit to drive?” Jeremy froze for a split second, then burst out laughing, to the point it was almost dangerous to keep driving, and James laughed with him.

“Yeah, sorry… I’ll stop at the next one, okay?”, he sniffed trying to put himself together.

“You’d better”, James stuffily replied, but had to press his lips together to avoid laughing again.

Jeremy complied soon after. And then again a few miles ahead, lay-by after lay-by, to the point driving almost became a side activity to kissing and laughing. They diverted from what was the shortest way to London, ending up on the motorway with the hope to find a service area. Once there, they had a wee and a coffee and another snog in the car park before leaving again. It didn’t matter if it had taken them two hours and half to reach London - an all-time low in Jeremy’s records – but it was well worth it.

While approaching Jeremy’s flat, the suspicion he had accidentally promised something he wasn’t sure he could actually provide had overcome the playful atmosphere they’d departure with. He reconsidered how what he’d said and done was basically hinting at having sex and quickly understood he wouldn’t have been able to. Not while that tired. Not like that.

“I might have… er, underestimated the implications of my offer…”, he painfully confessed, hands firm on the steering wheel and eyes on the road. Ready to make a three-point turn and bring James back home, if needed. If James would have allowed him to.

Despite Jeremy’s worries, James didn’t freak out. “No problem”, he replied instead, then added, “I noticed the look you’ve given at the condoms while at the petrol station.”

Unsurprisingly, that was right where Jeremy’s doubts began. James’s foresight made him even more uncomfortable, the indisputable proof of his blatant incompetence. He embarrassedly mumbled a sort of explanation, “Er… I’m a bit of a rookie in this field actually…”, praying for the next traffic light to be green and shorten the torture that trip had become.

“Quite a valiant rookie, considered what you’ve done”, James wholeheartedly said, and Jeremy shivered at that statement. Saying ‘thank you’ seemed the most miserable thing to do, even worse than the ensuing awkward silence Jeremy didn’t know how to fill. Thankfully, with the same soothing tone, James continued explaining, “Just to be clear, I would have asked you to sleep at mine if only my bed had been larger. To actually sleep.”

“Nice of you”, Jeremy replied out of the corner of his mouth, and pursed his lips to having speak further.

Once at the flat, exhaustion was taking its toll and Jeremy got inside struggling to keep his eyes open. Outrageously, since James was _finally_ there with him, but that didn’t make the task any easier. “Well, just... make yourself at home”, he managed to articulate, “Just let me find a set of clean sheets…”

“No need to, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

In a burst of pride, Jeremy rebutted, “I can’t have you sleep on the sofa! I’ve basically kidnapped you and brought you here!”

James snorted, but his most meaningful answer was the way he threw himself against Jeremy, kissing him sweetly. Jeremy had to take a step back and leant against the wall, dragging James with him, to maintain some sort of balance. It was embarrassingly comforting how James was holding him close all the same, despite his blatant weariness, like he believed he could squeeze something good out of him anyway.

“Aren’t we here because your bed is bigger than mine? If I promise I won’t ravish you, couldn’t we just share it?”, James eventually purred in the crook of Jeremy’s neck as they pulled back.

James’s hot breath tickled his skin and titillated his mind; being ravished suddenly sounded quite an interesting outcome - if only he wasn’t that tired, again – so he couldn’t help but accept.

They didn’t talk much while getting ready for bed, out of tiredness or nervousness James couldn’t say. Being used to each other’s presence and moves made sharing the limited spaces much easier; given how they’d already ruled out doing anything but sleep, the office or Jeremy’s bedroom did not make much difference.

Sat on one side of the bed, James waited for Jeremy to be ready before getting under the blanket; he lingered there a bit longer, after Jeremy had muttered “Good night” and lain supine. After having eventually slipped into the bed, the two of them lying next to each other, James turned to Jeremy.

“This thing here”, he asked, “Do you… do you think it’s right? I mean, for the show…”

Despite being already one thing with the mattress, Jeremy arduously turned his head towards James. Thinking about a comprehensive answer was beyond his possibilities, so he just referred to what his heart suggested, “I can’t see anything wrong in this. But ask me again in the morning, please – I’m already hallucinating you’re in my bed, I clearly need to sleep.”

James smiled, leaned forward just enough to place a kiss on Jeremy’s lips and whispered “Good night” before turning the bedside lamp off. As the room turned dark, Jeremy felt the need to point out, “Can’t wait for the morning to come. Sleep well James.”

James did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the Manic Street Preachers' song "[The future has been here 4 ever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C13Y7-vqzzI)"


End file.
